


Box 953

by prosai



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, but mostly hilb, hilbert gets beat to heck and back, i mean everyone gets hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-03 15:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12751464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosai/pseuds/prosai
Summary: 'Cutter was not discreet in telling them that whatever happened from here was because of the team’s failings, their shortcomings, and their inability to follow rules. Each task was a sacrifice, "It’s to build your communication skills and teach you how to follow orders!" Eiffel had thought of it more like thinly veiled sadism.'Box 953 gets a bit more... intense.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this with my dude Fulmi (fifthlegionfulminata on tumblr) after we decided we wanted to throw Hilbert down a flight of stairs because we love him. There's physical and emotional damage here, so be warned.

Hilbert opens his eyes to complete darkness and chokes back a scream, the copper tang of blood filling his mouth as he bites through his lower lip in a blind panic. His left hand shakes wildly as he pulls the blankets off of his face, chest heaving as he fights to calm himself.  _ Just blankets, not what you think. You are fine.  _ Breathe _ , remember how to breathe. _

 

Staggering up and out of his bed, he gasps for air while he stumbles to the bathroom, his steps leaning heavily on one leg. Staring at the mirror for a long moment and sloppily wiping the blood off his chin, Hilbert splashes water on his face, trying to bring himself back to reality.

 

Hands still trembling, the doctor reaches for a pair of glasses, a soft breath of relief escaping when he slips them on and color tints the world. Cold fingers comb the hair away from his face before slowly walking to the lab’s closet to find some fresh clothes, his current scrubs damp with sweat and clinging to his thin frame. Stripped of the damp cloth, Hilbert slides on a new shirt, struggling slightly with the arm holes. The sweatpants are better, but he has some difficulty maneuvering the drawstring into a knot, eventually giving up with a huff, letting the waist of the pants hang low on his hips. He takes a tired look at the clock that dangles dangerously over the edge of his bookshelf, knocked off-center by his panicked movements earlier. Its early, or maybe late, the clock reading 2:43.

 

Deciding there’s no point in trying to go back to sleep, he leaves his quarters and heads for the dining room, breathing an unconscious sigh of relief when he sees the room empty of his crewmates and making a beeline for the tea kettle. A few minutes later he’s nursing a cup of tea, tucked into the corner of the room so no one can come up behind him while he drinks- not that anyone should be up so late, but after everything that’s happened they’ve all been having trouble sleeping. 

 

He is blissfully lost in thought, enjoying one of the few things he can still find pleasure in, when a set of footsteps becomes audible from down the hall. Suddenly he’s trapped, hands beginning to shake slightly as he racks his brain for a way to leave before they come in, but it’s too late. The door is shadowed by a figure that he can’t make sense of, too blurry and far away for him to see clearly, and after a moment he hears Eiffel’s voice ask tentatively. “Hilbert?” His blood runs cold and something shatters distantly. Immediately the scientist is on his feet and skirting the wall around Eiffel- careful not to touch him, mustn't touch him- before walking quickly back to the lab.

He doesn’t stop walking until he reaches the bathroom, throwing up the meager contents of his stomach before rinsing out his mouth and staggering back to bed, collapsing onto it and curling in on himself.  _ Think of anything else, anything else- _ but like a moth to a flame, memories are dragged to the front of his mind. Suddenly he’s unaware of where he is, lost in an inescapable void without his senses to guide him. 

 

Minkowski finds Hilbert like that some time later, her jaw clenching at the sight of him curled up, left arm clutched against his chest, trembling and squeezing his eyes shut. With gentle care she reaches over to rest a hand on his shoulder, but the touch sends the man jolting awake and quickly moving backwards until his back is pressed against the wall. She can see the tops of unfocused eyes behind his glasses and knows he’s not fully aware yet, his chest completely still as if he can’t remember to breathe.

“Alexander, it’s okay. It’s just me, it’s Renee.” Slowly he inhales, stammering out the name, “M-Minkowski..” with a small voice. “Yeah.” He nods for no apparent reason, sitting upright and pulling his knees to his chest while still cradling his left arm. “W.. why are you here?” Minkowski relaxes. “Hilbert, we’re worried about you. When was the last time you ate? Ei-” Hilbert’s breath catches and she pauses for a moment before continuing, “…We’ve noticed that you’ve just been logging tea and nothing else, Hilbert you can’t live off of that.” He ducks his head under her glare and curls in on himself. “I am aware, have not had the time to eat anything else.” “Don’t lie to me doctor.” Slowly, thoughtfully, he half-whispers, “I cannot remember.”

She sighs, having suspected but still distressed at the revelation, unable to help herself as her hand reaches back over to pat his shoulder, painfully aware of the immediate wave of tension that the touch causes. “I figured. Here, I’m not leaving until you drink all of this.” She hands over a retort pouch with some liquid sloshing around inside. A shivering hand receives the offer. “What is this?”

“Chicken noodle soup. I think. It says 'Chi en oo le up’ so I’m really going off of context clues.” To her pleasure he laughs, just for a moment, before crossing his legs and giving a valiant effort into drinking it. At first she can see his throat work as he struggles not to throw it back up, but after a minute it’s stayed down. Once satisfied, she gives his shoulder another pat and stands. “Alright, now that I’m sure you’re not gonna waste away in here I’m gonna let you sleep. You know you can come talk to me, right?” It’s asked with a comforting smile. Hilbert simply nods, turning his head away, and she takes the empty pouch with her as she leaves. There are hushed voices outside his room that he can’t fully hear, but he has a sinking feeling of who it’s likely to be. It takes him hours to return to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Eiffel couldn't stop thinking about how much he wished Hilbert would just talk to him. The man looked like he was just a step away from dying when Eiffel saw him earlier, blood smeared across his chin and his lower lip bleeding sluggishly. He had on those glasses, the ones that kept anyone from actually looking him in the eye, the ones he only started wearing after everything happened. He had gone so pale when he saw Eiffel that it made his heart sink into the floor.

 

Once he had made the mistake of trying to stop Hilbert as he was walking past, but the reaction kept him from ever considering doing it again. Eiffel had thought he was going to faint, or maybe throw up, he shuddered in his grasp but made no motion to jerk his arm away. It was as if his whole body shut down the moment Eiffel touched him. The realization had him slowly release his grip. Hilbert didn't leave his room for a week after that.

 

Stooping to pick the broken mug off the floor, Eiffel found himself locking up entirely at the sight of some blood that smudged across the ceramic from Hilbert’s bleeding lip. Bile rises in his throat.  _ Hilbert’s bleeding. _ He fights feebly as his mind plunges deep into a memory so vivid he can taste the copper-scented air again.

 

 

Cutter had been angered by the discovery that not only was Lovelace alive and on board the ship, but they had disregarded his orders to kill Hilbert. One morning the crew awoke to a set of instructions telling them the location of yet another secret room on board the Hephaestus, hidden by a series of cabinets. They were then ordered to step inside and to do exactly what was told of them from there on out. 

 

He was not discreet in telling them that whatever happened from here was because of the team’s failings, their shortcomings, and their inability to follow rules. Then the tasks began.

It started with a vote. Who out of your crewmates do you like the least? As if it wasn’t petty enough, the pole was unanimous. Cutter told them that at the very end, just before he let them go. Each task was a sacrifice,  _ It’s to build your communication skills and teach you how to follow orders.  _ Eiffel had thought of it more like thinly veiled sadism.

 

The first tasks were painful, but they were little things. Minkowski sprained her ankle, Eiffel cut his leg, Hilbert broke two fingers in one hand. And how they had complained, bitching and moaning over the inconvenience of the activities, of the minor aches and pains that they caused. It all seemed so incredibly stupid now. 

 

Whether by design, or out of a petty desire for punishment, the tasks only got more destructive.

 

Lovelace broke her right arm when she fell through a trap in the floor. After a targeted siren blast, Minkowski was deaf in one ear. Eiffel had gotten his shoulder heavily burned when he had triggered a flamethrower mechanism in the walls. But for the most part, Hilbert had stayed relatively unharmed. They were feeling confident about their progress when Cutter's sickeningly sweet voice chimed over the intercom in the next room. It was furnished by a complex machine in the center and a long metal table adorned with tools set to one side. Amongst various screwdrivers and spanners was a small white box labeled "First Aid" in large red letters.

 

"Great job, everyone! Really happy with the progress you're making. The next task should be easy for a bunch of brainiacs like yourselves! All you need to do is fix the machine so it can run properly, good luck!”

 

And with that they got to work, stopping every now and again to let one another rest their injuries. Hilbert wouldn't, though, he insisted he was fine and doggedly kept working even as everyone else took a breather. It was because of his stubborn refusal to stop that he found the final problem. 

 

There was a loose bolt inside the machine, reachable through a hole in the casing, and it was this bolt that kept the machine from turning on completely. He looked thoughtful, for just a moment, and then he reached inside. It was far enough down that almost his entire arm was inside by the time he reached the bolt. It took a second to fix, and it took just a second to go wrong. What bothers Eiffel to this day is how Hilbert reacted when the machine clamped down around his arm and began humming, how his eyes had widened for a second before he screwed them shut and quietly turned his head away.

 

Like he knew what was about to happen.

 

The machine wasn't efficient or quiet when it ripped through the fragile muscles and bone in Hilbert's left arm, severing the limb from his body with a brutality that only Cutter could conceive of. It slowly screamed and yelled and tore, so did he, so did they, and Eiffel could only watch in shock as Hilbert's knees gave out, pulling some of the mangled flesh loose before the blades finally grinded through bone, releasing him from its grip.

 

Blood poured from the mutilated remains of his arm as Minkowski scrambled to grab the first aid kit off of the table. Her hands trembled when she looked inside, and the stricken expression she gave said it all. Eiffel stripped off his belt as quickly as possible, tying it around the dying man’s arm as a tourniquet. He felt sick.

 

Minkowski was muttering while she helped, a mixture of soothing words and military commands as she bandaged the ragged flesh and bone with meager provisions from within the box. It didn't matter what she was saying, Hilbert was barely conscious, but it helped her stay calm and Eiffel appreciated the small distraction. They shared a long look and together pulled Hilbert to his feet. The door leading out of the room opened with an irksome ping, Cutter's voice echoing into the next area.

 

"Well, who'd have guess that would happen?... Me!" He laughs wildly for a moment before his humor vanishes. "Anyway, go ahead and take a short rest, I'll grant you a five-hour reprieve. Bonus points to Minkowski for saving his life."

 

This was the smallest room yet, a hint of warmth fluttered in the air providing a sense of safety. Cutter had been generous enough to provide sleeping bags and some food, but only enough for three, like someone was not expected to make it this far, like someone was supposed to be dead.

 

The three conscious members of the team picked at their food, disturbed by injuries and the presence of a deadly still body laid across the floor. It took about an hour for Hilbert to come to, with an almost inaudible whine. He touched the bandages in confusion, eyes struggling to focus, rolling his head in Minkowski’s direction. He spoke slowly, too pained to raise his voice above a rasping whisper.

 

"спасибо, что спасли меня." He grimaced, eyes clamping shut, struggling to make the translation to English. "Ah- thank you... f-for save...saving life. Apology, h-hard to remember..."

 

Half an hour passed in silence aside from troublingly pained gasps as Hilbert rode out several bouts of shaking fits, face pale and glossy with a sickly sheen of sweat. Eventually Eiffel got up to retrieve the two remaining sleeping bags (Lovelace having turned in some time ago). He offered them to Hilbert and Minkowski. 

 

"Nyet, d-do not-"

 

"Yeah, I'm reaaally not tired right now,” Eiffel interrupted “You and Minkowski ought to try and get some sleep though."

 

He shares a gaze with his Commanding officer for a moment, a conversation without words, none of them were going to get much sleep, Lovelace was still shifting her broken arm under the fabric of her sleeping bag, occasionally grunting in pain. But Minkowski didn’t object, and assisted in getting Hilbert somewhat covered before going to lay down herself. To his surprise, Eiffel manages to drift into a light doze whilst resting against a wall.

 


	3. Chapter 3

A siren blares through the room like a spitting flame, awaking various states of fitful slumber. It’s followed by a familiar gleeful voice.

 

"Good morning, crew! Since you all made it through yesterday's fun, I've got something special for you! Hilbert, I want you and Minkowski to go through this door." A panel of the wall sinks into the floor across from them. "And Eiffel, you and Lovelace can go through this one!" Another panel, to the right of the first, follows suit. 

 

Anxiety pierces the air as Minkowski helps Hilbert into the darkened passage. He hasn’t stopped shaking and it’s clear he’s not entirely aware of what is going on. Eiffel and Lovelace split off through their door, lights flickering on to illuminate a small room. It’s entirely bare aside from two chairs, and a large window that separates them from Minkowski and Hilbert as they are spotlighted in the middle of darkness.

 

"Alright everybody, good start. I’m going to need my two volunteers to be very precise here, Renee, I want you to walk twelve steps to your right. And Alexander, twenty steps forward." 

Minkowski slowly removes her arms from around Hilbert, lingering slightly as he attempts to find some balance. “Did you hear what he said?” She whispers softly, turning so she can see his face. “I am... to walk forward…” The scientist’s gaze is directed at the floor, he squints slightly, trying to make sense of his thoughts, of which language he’s speaking, of anything besides the raking pain in his side.

  
  


“20 steps, I’ll count them out with you, okay?” Minkowski releases him entirely to proceed along her path. The spotlights move, only focusing on the two figures, everything around them staying completely hidden. Hilbert walks slowly forward, trailed by a tally of his steps. He draws his remaining arm close, hooking it around his side as nausea threatens to send him sprawling. Minkowski has to shout for him to stop once he reaches twenty, his brain having not registered the number he was supposed to be listening for.

 

"Good, good! Now for the fun part!" Everyone is blinded as the room gets flooded with light, unveiling the new task. Hilbert is in a tiny space of clear floor amongst a field of bear traps, in front of him a table of lab equipment. At first Minkowski seems to be stood in a random patch of safe floor, but then a circular platform begins to rise up below her, causing the commander to stumble and nearly fall. The emerging cylinder has transparent walls to display a tank of water within.

 

"Okay, so this is how it's going to work. Alexander, you have twenty minutes to repair the radio before you, it’s designed to send a signal that intervenes with a mechanical timer within the trap door Renee is currently standing on. If it runs out, your commander will be dropped into a nice vat of refreshing iced water. But I’m sure she’ll be fine in your capable hands- Oh, sorry." 

 

Cutter's cruel laughter echoes through the vaulted room while Hilbert frantically tries to kick his brain into gear. What had Cutter said this was? What was he supposed to be doing? Did he need to build something? No- no, he needed to fix it. Fix the radio. Fix the machi- No, he did that one. 20 steps- 20  _ minutes.  _ He had 20 minutes.

 

A loud thumping begins to build up in Hilbert’s ears as he starts to panic, breath becoming short and shallow. The room feels like it’s closing in from all sides, constricting and suffocating and burning him alive.

 

He takes a step back.

 

A deafening crack rings out across the room, three onlookers forced to do nothing but watch as the blunt teeth of a bear trap slam shut over Hilbert’s right leg. 

 

The world shrinks down to one long, echoing cry of anguish, one that gives out with a harsh intake of breath, only to restart again, this time on the verge of turning into a deep sob.

 

Minkowski leans over the edge of her platform, desperately trying to find a way down that doesn’t lead to more traps. “HILBERT! HILBERT, STAY WITH ME!” She settles for calling out to him instead, at first eliciting no response as the biologist slumps to the floor against the table, staring wide-eyed into space.

 

Hilbert forces his mind to restart. Thousands of thoughts, memories and concepts race past him, eventually smashing him head-first into the brick wall of the present.

 

He needs to fix the radio.

 

Blood oozes sluggishly from where claws burrow deep within his flesh as Hilbert pulls himself up to the table with his arm. Eiffel, Lovelace, and Minkowski watch in horror as the doctor begins to work on the device, skin a clammy grey, sweat dripping down his brow, and whole body shaking violently with the effort to stay lucid.

 

In Hilbert’s mind, there is only the radio. It takes all of his energy, but he manages to cut his entire existence down to this one task. Nothing else matters. He fumbles to clip wires and twist screws, hand sluggish and unresponsive, but he keeps going. And he nearly makes it. Nearly.

 

He must have done something wrong, shorted a fuse or damaged a wire, because the next moment there's a bright, blinding flash and it takes them a moment to blink the stars from their eyes. Minkowski's platform slides out from beneath her and she falls into a darkened vat of water, the door sliding shut again so she could not escape to breathe. Thanks to the glass, there is nothing but silence to accompany this scene for Eiffel and Lovelace, until a bright  _ ping  _ chirps throughout the room, and a previously invisible panel in the barrier slides into the floor. A thousand  _ cracks  _ fill the air as every single bear trap goes off at once, making it safe to enter the other room.

 

Lovelace is the first one through. She grabs a chair, and with an enraged scream charges towards the tank, smashing a hole in the side of it so water comes flooding out. She grabs Minkowski’s body before it can stray too far and hauls her back through the glass door. Laying her crew mate down, Lovelace begins the steps for CPR, hoping and praying she got there in time to make a difference


	4. Chapter 4

One evening Eiffel walks into the mess to find Hilbert trying to make a cup of tea. His left arm is shaking badly. It never stops shaking anymore. He struggles to hold a tea spoon still, spilling sugar across the worktop. Suddenly his arm flinches back, dropping the spoon altogether, and he clasps onto his wrist, drawing it close. He takes a quivering breath, hunching over so his left arm is cradled to his chest. Hilbert sinks to the floor, head coming to rest against a cabinet door. He’s holding his breath, perhaps preventing a cry of distress.

 

Eiffel moves slowly towards him, like approaching a wild animal. He comes to a crouch by Hilbert’s side and makes the decision to rest a hand on his back. The reaction is instantaneous. The scientist  _ screams.  _ He lurches backwards, falling onto his back, eyes wild, unfocused, scrambling backwards until he hits a wall. His whole body is trembling now, Eiffel puts his hands up in shock.

 

“Hilbert! Hilbert, it’s just me, it’s Doug.” It takes a second, but Hilbert’s eyes begin to clear. He swallowed before speaking. “откуда ты при- W-where did you come from?” “Just, just from my quarters, the door back there.” Eiffel gestures behind them and Hilbert frowns to himself.  _ Of course that’s where he came from, do not be stupid.  _ His voice shakes when he responds and he unfurls ever-so-slightly as he speaks, “Ah, of.. Of course. I am sorry, please- please excuse me.” 

 

Hilbert gets to his feet, using the wall behind him to support his jerky movements before skirting past Eiffel and abandoning his tea in favor of leaving the room as quickly as possible. Eiffel wants to reach out to him as he leaves but lets his hand fall to his side, turning his attention to the remains of Hilbert’s attempt to make a drink. He cleans slowly, his mind wandering to things he wished he’d forget.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Eiffel was torn, half of him wanting to go check on the Commander and the other hoping beyond all reason that Hilbert was still alive. 

 

_ There’s no way, but please God if you’re listening please please please let him still be alive I promise I’ll go to church when I get back to Earth, I’ll read the Bible, I’ll learn the Lord’s Prayer, whatever you want just please. Please let him still be alive.  _ He chokes on a sob of relief when he sees Hilbert’s hand scrabble weakly on the floor, as if he’s still trying to reach the radio to fix it in time while he lays prone and bleeding sluggishly. 

 

Hands shaking wildly while they hover over Hilbert’s broken and chewed leg, Eiffel tries to think of what he can do to help. He guts the radio for its wires and takes a screwdriver before stripping off his undershirt and tearing it into strips. The first sign that Hilbert is still conscious is a low and quiet sob as Eiffel yanks open the bear trap, quickly using the wire as a kind of tourniquet in tandem with the screwdriver before bandaging his leg. He’ll have to take it off if Hilbert were to have any chance of keeping it, but for the time being this is the best he can do. Eiffel wasn’t even aware he was speaking until he’s done all he can and goes to pick Hilbert up, feeling his words die in his throat when he sees that the man is looking at him with hazy, unfocused eyes.

 

“H.. Hilbert? Hilbert, hey, no no no you’re okay, it’s fine, I got you, you’re going to be okay I promise, come on, say something okay? Anything, tell me how much you like viruses or plants or anything, I’ll take anything at all-”

 

His breath comes quicker, chest constricting, panic and bile both rising as Hilbert doesn’t move or even seem to breathe for what feels like an eternity before the man shudders in his grasp and says in a small, broken voice, “Я не вижу- I-I can’t... Eiffel?” He doesn’t even seem sure who is there, and sobs softly before continuing, “Eiffel, w-why can I not-t see? P-please tell me... tell me Cutter h-has s-shut off lights, p-please-” Eiffel looks at him in growing horror as Hilbert’s desperation turns to despair. The muscles in his jaw work as his slight frame is wracked with sobs, fighting to keep from making a sound.

 

The lights above them illuminate everything.

 

“Fuck, Hilbert, I…”

 

Eiffel props the older man against the workbench, using a hand to move Hilbert’s face up, so he’s almost looking at him. His eyes look as though they’ve been covered in a fine layer of fog, they’re pouring out tears in an attempt to reverse the damage of the flash. “I-I can’t s-see.” His voice cracks at the last word, rising to a higher octave that Eiffel has ever heard from the biologist. It might have been funny if he wasn’t almost dead.

 

Eiffel feels a little shocked at how little the doctor weighs when he picks him up finally, carrying him back to Minkowski and Lovelace as a growing anxiety fills him.  _ Did Lovelace make it in time? Is Minkowski going to be okay?? _ And he almost collapses in relief, barely remembering to stay on his feet if only to keep from causing Hilbert even more pain when he sees Minkowski puking up water while Lovelace rubs small circles on her back. “Jesus, Renee, were you trying to drink your way out?” Lovelace’s voice trembles and her eyes are rimmed with red as she lets out a weak laugh. She looks up at Eiffel and sees the state Hilbert’s in, her breath catching as her hand stills. “Oh, fuck. Is- is he-” “He’s gonna be okay.”  _ I hope he’s okay _ “Can you and Minkowski walk, I hate to rush you but I don’t want to be here any longer than I absolutely have to be.” In a croak Minkowski replies, getting to her feet slowly with Lovelace’s help. “I don’t want to be here either. Lovelace, can you-?” Lovelace wraps an arm around her waist as Minkowski throws her arm over her shoulders with a grateful expression. “Well, if the gang’s all here…” 

 

Cutter’s hateful voice fills the room after a jaunty “ping.” “Wow, I’m really impressed right now! You guys, you’re like cockroaches aren’t you, I could probably pump you full of  _ radiation _ and you’d still. Keep. Going. Its disgusting!” He laughs, continuing in that same jovial but cold tone, “I see Hilbert is still alive, good job Eiffel. And Minkowski, you’re a breath of fresh air as always. You know, I think you’ve earned a nice long rest. Twelve whole hours of one, actually. Have fun while it lasts.” A panel of the wall nearest them slides open with a hiss of compressed air, and after a moment they walk through.


	6. Chapter 6

The air is warm again, filling the room with a cozy and safe feeling. There are medical supplies in one corner, along with enough sleeping bags and food for once. Eiffel sets Hilbert down against the wall, beginning to step away to grab the medical supplies so he can actually do something for Hilbert’s many injuries, only to feel something grab onto his leg as it moves by. Hilbert’s eyes are empty, staring at something far more distant than this room, and he’s wearing a desperate and frightened expression that makes Eiffel’s heart hurt. “I’m just going to get something, I’ll be right back, okay?” Lovelace has already settled Minkowski when she sees the exchange. “Here.” She brings him a share of the provisions along with a reassuring pat on the shoulder before returning to Renee.

 

Even though Hilbert can feel Eiffel’s hands while he changes the bandages on his arm and leg, he still grips tightly to a loose fold of fabric, as if he’s afraid that if he lets go he’ll be left alone. Eiffel doesn’t mind it, but what bothers him is the need for that reassurance at all. Once the bandages are changed he sits beside the older man, careful to be on his right side so Hilbert can reach over easily and feel that he’s there. With a shaky breath of relief Hilbert falls into a restless sleep, waking every few minutes or so to feel out for a sign that there is still someone there before slipping back under. 

 

Eiffel is awoken when he hears a hiss of pain and feels Hilbert shift next to him, his breathing labored and uneven. “Hilbert? Hey man, what’s wrong?” “мою ногу- My leg, the t-t-tor- I-I think, черт возьми-” Eiffel suddenly realizes what the problem is, he’s left the tourniquet on for too long and the delicate nerves and muscles in Hilbert’s leg are beginning to die, causing intense pain. 

  
  


He jerks forward and looks at Hilbert for reassurance, wide, hazy eyes cruelly reminding him of the doctor’s condition. His face is pale, sickly, expression a grimace of pain that he’s struggling to keep from showing as he clinches his jaw tightly. Eiffel fidgets with the wires and strips of fabric that dig tightly into greying flesh.

 

“Do- do I take it off, is that okay?”

“D-da, ju-just get it over with, please-” Trembling hands remove the tourniquet from his leg, and Eiffel’s taken aback to feel how cold it is, like touching a corpse. He recoils slightly in horror but still does his best to restore the blood flow to the limb. Minkowski shifts from nearby, voice still hoarse from the day’s events, “Eiffel? Is everything okay?” “Minkowski, I -fuck- I fucked up, his leg, oh god.”  Hilbert’s little gasps of pain reassure him that he can still feel something, at least, as he roughly rubs his calf and foot in his attempts to stimulate the veins into working again. It takes too long for color to return to the skin, and he knows that whatever effects it has on Hilbert’s ability to walk is his fault alone. He winces in sympathy and gags when he sees bones, visible through the torn flesh, twisting and grinding as they regain some movement. Hilbert’s stopped making any noise, he realizes, and he looks up to see his head slumped forward in unconsciousness. Guilt at having pushed him so far into pain that he couldn’t handle it sweeps over Eiffel, but he keeps working until he feels that the leg is producing its own heat. 

 

He scoots closer to the unconscious man, feeling his pulse to reassure himself that he hasn’t pushed him too far, but it’s weak, and Hilbert’s shivering even though he’s burning up with his skin blisteringly hot to the touch. “Hey, uh, Minkowski? What have we got in terms of fever medication?” She walks on slightly unsteady feet to the supply table “Umm, just some children’s tylenol.” Eiffel frowns before joining her to grab the small bottle and plastic syringe “...What the fuck?” As if some key word had been uttered, the speakers in the room crackle to life with Cutter’s jovial voice. “Oh I thought you would appreciate that more than anyone Doug, it’s a kiddie syringe! This way nobody can get injected with any  _ lethal substances  _ without their say-so _.  _ Not that he has the motor abilities to do such a thing anymore.” 

 

Eiffel’s grip on the bottle tightens as the sound clicks off again, he looks towards Hilbert, who’s slumped against the wall, still unconscious. From across the room you can really see just how bad off he is, skin a sickly grey, clothes damp with cold sweat and drying blood, arm  _ missing _ , leg  _ dying- _

“We should wake him up.” Minkowski pulls the communications officer from his thoughts, resting a hand on his arm. “Y-yeah. Let’s, umm, let’s change the bandages first.” They gather the most useful supplies, gauze and rubbing alcohol, and settle down next to the doctor. The various wounds are doused, disturbing the slowly forming scabs and causing them to bleed sluggishly. Once some fresh bandages have been applied, Eiffel cups Hilbert’s face in his hands, trying to get him to wake up. “Hilbert? Hey, wake up buddy. Come on, get up.” 

 

It takes an agonizingly long time for Hilbert’s eyes to blink open, but the moment he’s conscious his teeth clench tight and tears well in his vacant eyes. “I know, I’m sorry, I-I didn’t know what else to do, there was just alcohol in the medical supplies and I didn’t- it was all we had.” Hilbert nods, jerkily, before saying in a pained whisper, “Is.. Is okay. How m-m- longer, t-t-till ne-next t-ta-task?”

“I’m not sure, there’s no timer in here. Listen, you’ve got a fever, can you take this?” He places the bottle in Hilbert’s hand, but receives a nudge from Minkowski. The cap’s still on. The fucking  _ child-proof _ cap. A hand fumbles around with the bottle, confused and awkward “What, what is…?”  _ Of course he wants to know what it is, he’s blind.  _ Eiffel snatches it back, hot with embarrassment. “Fuck, sorry, it’s chil- it’s liquid tylenol, can you take a couple mouthfuls for me?” He removes the lid, foregoing the syringe in favour of letting Hilbert remain unaware of Cutter’s scathing jibe. It’s swallowed obediently, with a grimace and ending in a bout of raking coughs.

 

A few minutes later Lovelace stirs, moving across the room to sit with the others in anxious silence. A few minutes after that, the speakers start up again, causing Hilbert to visibly flinch at the sound of their tormentor’s voice.


	7. Chapter 7

“Okay, guys, it’s showtime! This time I need three of you. Minkowski, Eiffel, Lovelace? I want one of you to help Hilbert up and take him to this room over here.” A panel slides open in the wall, revealing a brightly lit room with clean white walls. Everyone but Hilbert notices that this is the first time a room has been lit before they entered it, and the irony is not lost on them. With a feeling of anxiety, Minkowski and Eiffel help Hilbert to the room and wait for further instruction. The opening suddenly closes with a snap, separating them from the doctor. Lovelace bristles at the action “Hey! What are you-” but Cutter intervenes before she can get any further “Relax, he's completely safe. But since you asked, the next one’s for you!” Another part of the wall slides open, this time into a pitch black corridor, the three remaining crew members share a look. “I’ll see you soon, promise.” The captain squares her shoulders and enters the passageway, entrance sliding away behind her. It does not close in time for the other two to miss the beginnings of a pained yell.

 

A third door opens to a dimly lit area. “Doug, if you’d like to step through here.” He turns towards Minkowski, who squeezes his arms in a gesture of reassurance “We can do this.” It’s said for the benefit of them both. “Good luck Commander.” Eiffel gives a jaunty salute as he turns towards his room, takes a breath, and enters.

 

He finds himself in the corner of a large open area, easily over 30 foot down each length. At first Eiffel thinks he’s by himself, however after scanning the room, he spots a hunched figure at the opposite end. “Hey!” He makes it about two steps forward before his foot crashes into a powerful wall of electricity, sending shock waves up his leg despite wearing thick shoes. “Aagh!” The officer falls back into the wall behind him, smacking his head against the cold metal. A distant voice calls back as he picks himself up again. “Eiffel?” 

 

“Lovelace?” Eiffel squints his eyes to try and make her out without moving, now cautious of the invisible electricity fields present “How did you get all the way over there, I thought your door was just next to-” A loud crackle drowns out the rest of his question as the speakers in the room start up. “-Let’s patch you through to them now, Say hello everyone!” 

 

“Eiffel, Lovelace, you okay?” Minkowski’s voice is now also echoing out across the space. “Fine Commander.”

“Not too great” Eiffel jolts his head to stare out across the room again. “Lovelace? What’s wrong?” Cutter answers before the captain can open her mouth. “Oh Isabel’s fine… for now. She’s just testing out a small contraption of mine, I know you probably saw enough of those dusty old bear traps, so I brought in a new device: The Twister! It’s a fun little leg clamp that turns your bones in opposite directions, so they just…  _ Snap!  _ apart. Cool right?... Well, if you want it off, you’ll have to wait for Doug to get through the maze he can’t see. That’s, of course, where Renee takes command, using the map she has in her surveillance room. Any questions? No? Well hop to it then!” The end of his speech is marked with a yell from Lovelace as her trap begins to slowly twist her leg.


	8. Chapter 8

He focuses on the sound of his own breath. In, and out. In, and- footsteps approach him, the sound of multiple pairs of feet as they clatter across the floor towards where he sits, curled in on himself. It’s the seventh time he’s heard them in the past… five? Six hours? Usually they echo by, fading into the distance, but this time the feet draw closer.  “E-Eiffel? M-Min-Minkovski?” He hears a taunting laugh and Minkowski’s derisive voice. “ _ Min-Min-Min- _ what the hell is that? Did that light fry your brain when it took your eyes, Doctor?” The words cut like a knife as Eiffel’s voice chimes in. “The only thing he had going for him was some brain cells, and now even they're gone!” Eiffel’s laugh rings through the air as Hilbert struggles to get out the words. “I kn-know what t-this is. Y-y-you- tch- you aren’t re-real. All this, Cutter’s d-doing.” Something inside him breaks, something fragile that he didn’t even know he had at the feeling of a warm hand caressing his cheek. 

 

“Oh no  _ d-d-d-Doc _ . We’re real, and you know what? We’re so  _ sick  _ of having to deal with you. You’re a  _ waste _ , too fucking broken to have any use to us anymore. What can you do? Can't walk, can’t see, only one arm, and now your mind’s been scrambled into a bumbling mess. Do you know how much I hate that? I have to carry around a waste of space. Honestly, I should have left you to bleed out, see if you could do something yourself for once.” The familiar cadence of Eiffel’s voice makes his words cut even deeper as Lovelace joins the fray. “You should have let me kill him when I first came on board, saved you a bunch of trouble.” Minkowski interjects with a mocking defence on his part. “No no, if you had killed him we never would have had someone take all these bullets for us. He’s been useful for that much, at least.”

A thumb brushes against the corner of his eye in a mockery of affection, breath brushing his ear as Eiffel whispers to him. “Are you going to cry, Hilbert? Does this upset you, to know that we hate you just as much as you think we do? Oh and we  _ know _ all about what you think. What you  _ really think _ . About why you’re  _ actually _ so devoted to your work? It’s pathetic, always thinking of yourself.” His breath catches on a sob, sending him into a coughing fit. Eiffel laughs and pulls him close, proving his reality with a solid body. “Look, Minkowski! He’s crying! Almost like a real person you could love, right? Like someone  _ worth something. _ ” 

 

He feels another body sit beside him on the floor, close enough that his shoulder touches theirs. Minkowski’s voice comes from that spot, speaking casually even though her words are spitting acid on his skin. “You know, Doctor, at this point you ought to just take off that belt. See, Lovelace and Eiffel got hurt during this last task and we can’t have someone like  _ you  _ wasting our precious medical supplies. After all, Cutter thought you’d be dead the moment your arm got ripped off. So we’ve only got so much available.” Lovelace’s voice is cold as she retorts. “It’s not like you can provide much medical help anyway, do you even remember how to treat a cut? A burn? Could you hold your fucking hand steady enough to make a stitch, or hell, write a legible sentence?”

 

He curls in further, visibly shrinking under the onslaught of bile and cold truth that comes from each familiar mouth. Eiffel’s arm pulls him closer, his words like silk. “Come on, Hilbert. Wouldn’t you rather the things we have to keep you alive be put to better use? You’re a real drag, you know, and at this point if things keep up we won’t be able to save someone if they need it. All of the gauze, all of the antibiotics, painkillers, all of it we have to waste on you. So why don’t you just do it, save everyone else the trouble. Do everyone a favor and let yourself bleed out, okay?” Hilbert’s breath comes in little gasps as tears stream down his face, bodies are surrounding him, the air hot and claustrophobic, he starts to hyperventilate. They’re all leaning into him- “At this rate, all that’s going to be left of you when you’re done is a bag of remains, might as well make it quick.” The voices aren’t distinct anymore, they’ve blended into one hideous whisper, and with a sickening jolt, Hilbert realises that it’s his own voice that’s speaking. “Do you know what you look like Dmitri? Do you know how far your mask has fallen?” His hand shakes wildly as he fumbles with the buckle of the belt that is all that stands between him in death. “Good. Die with some dignity.”


	9. Chapter 9

His hands are trembling. Of all the times his hands had to be goddamn trembling, now would have to take first prize.  _ Breath in, breath out, slow, steady, calm  _ down. A series of wires sprawls forth from a small grey box attached to Lovelace’s unconscious body, a set of instructions fresh in his mind, given to him just before she had succumbed to shock.  _ Red wire, black wire, red wire, black wire.  _ It would help if his vision would just  _ focus  _ instead of swimming around, colours lapping over one another as the doctor tries to pinpoint the right one to clip.  _ Just do it already. _

 

He cuts a wire.

 

There is a distant sound, a bang that rings through to the bone as they hear Eiffel’s scream over the radio. Minkowski and Hera begin shouting things, orders, questions, receiving patches of responses and static in return. Everything has blurred into a hum for Hilbert, but he jumps when hands grip either one of his shoulders, violently jolting him from the trance. “Hilbert. Doctor! I know, alright,  _ I know _ , but right now we need you to focus, the heart monitor-” Of course, how could he have been so  _ foolish _ , the steady beeping that blended into the background had picked up considerably. The scientist scrambles around his supplies, eventually grabbing for the crash cart, diving desperately over to the defibrillators as a long beeeeeep sings from the EKG. “C-c-cl-” There’s no time to wait for his damned mouth to work though, the pads are already charged against Lovelace’s chest. “Cl-c-cl-” He growls in frustration, but this time her heart’s started working again. Hilbert nearly collapses with the information that’s grinding in his brain. He runs to the bathroom to throw up instead.

 

Voices drift through the door as Hilbert makes his way back after a brief clean up, Minkowski and Hera furiously discussing ways to retrieve the jettisoned communications officer. Bracing himself, he enters the lab and immediately turns towards the medical supplies, away from Minkowski. “Hilbert, you’re back. Everything alright?” The question is vague enough that he can avoid the fact it’s directed at him. “The ca-captain is st-s-stable, but I n-need to remove shrapnel from the wound.” Latex gloves are slipped over trembling hands, they should probably be tighter. “And you’re alright to do that?” 

“Is d-d-delic-cate p-procidure, should only b-be p-performed by tr-t-trained pro-p-profess-sional.” Hilbert wonders if he can even qualify as one anymore. “Let me see your hands.”  _ She knows you can’t do it.  _ “This is a n-nec-necessary s-step c-c-com-” Hera interrupts “He’s shaking.” He clenches slight fingers into fists, turning around to face the commander. “You don’t have to do this by yourself, let me do the operation, you can guide me the whole way.” When he doesn’t answer she continues “I’ve done similar things with Hera’s circuitry in the past.” The doctor let’s out a long sigh,  _ you’d only make it worse anyway.  _ “F-fine, but I will t-take over when m-my hands h-have s-st-stopped sh-shak-king.”

 

But they don't. They just get worse.

 

The crew try to keep their heads above water, even as a second member of their team begins to fade before their eyes. It starts with the stutter, sentences get drawn out into lapses of Ps, Ts, Bs, and any other hard phonic that may catch the tongue. Lovelace approaches him one day to ask about a pain in her neck, “I-i-i-i-is p-p-pr-p-pr-p-pro-prob-b-b-prob-b-ba-ba-bab-b-ly fr-fr-f-from s-s-t-st-t-t-tre-tre-tren-n-nu-nuous-s a-ac-c-ct-ct-t-t-ti-vi-vit-t-t-AGH!” His eyes had been clamped shut the entire time, becoming hot with frustration and embarrassment. Eventually he throws up his hands with a somewhat despairing yell, gesturing for Lovelace to follow him to a cupboard in the laboratory, giving her some gel to apply without another word.

 

Later on she goes to talk to with the commander. “He can’t speak anymore, Minkowski, it’s just a bunch of consonants.”

“I know, he’s blaming himself for Eiffel, getting worked up over it.”

“If that’s anyone’s fault it’s mine, for not getting you to disarm the bomb sooner.”

“We had other things on our minds, besides, I think we’re all carrying some guilt over it. What’s important right now is staying strong together.”

“That’s a bit difficult when the doc never leaves his room.”

 

Speaking stops all together shortly. Occasionally he’ll start a word, only to choke on the first syllable and clamp his mouth shut, teeth biting down until they draw blood. There was an attempt at writing notes, but with hands that shook too much to make anything remotely legible, that was soon abandoned.

 

Next they notice the weight loss. Looking back, it had probably been going on a while, but sadly with a station to keep running there was never a lot of time to pay much heed. That is, until Minkowski receives a concerning alert from Hera one day. “Commander, there’s, um, something that needs your attention in corridor S3.” The pilot struggles with a taught pipe, straining to twist it undone “Could it wait a second Hera? I’m a bit busy.”

“Commander it’s Doctor Hilbert, he’s passed out.” That grabs her focus “Is he okay? Status report!” “Um, I think, I think it’s energy deficiency, his nutrient levels are extremely low… He’s-he’s starving.” There’s a clatter as a wrench is thrown into it’s toolbox. “I’m on my way.”

 

A body is sprawled across the floor just outside the bridge, it looks as though he had suddenly dropped in the middle of walking. Lovelace comes up from the other end of the station “Let’s get him back to his quarters.” They do, but he hardly takes any effort to carry, Minkowski can already feel jutting bones through the loose lab coat, anxiety rising as she wonders just how bad it’s gotten. And it’s gotten bad. “Holy shit.” The captain takes an unnerved step back as the shirt is pulled off of a sickly torso. “How did we not notice? How did we not notice how thin he was getting?!” Minkowski runs a hand through her hair, eyes glued to ribs you could count through the skin, arms that look like a light tap would break. A light shiver runs through the doctor as he regains awareness, hands twitching by his sides. Hollow eyes open to gaze upon the two bedside companions, bleary and too tired to focus. “C-c-c-com…” A croaking, underused voice slips out, dying before the first word. “I’m here, Alexander.” He nods, just a little, and his chest shudders in a ragged breath before he slips back into unconsciousness. 


End file.
